I stopped by Hon's parent's house last night to pick up the envelopes. I had already caught dinner in Chinatown with a friend and Hon was in class, so I simply planned on grabbing the bag of them and going home. I figured I could start addressing them while I caught up on The Voice.
When I got there, I was greeted with a big smile and a "You eat yet?" when his dad opened the door.
I informed him: "Ngo sek jo fan." Based on the knowing smiles and laughter, I'm pretty sure I missed a word or something, but it was close enough for both parents to understand.
"Whaaat. My rice no good?" While Hon's dad understood my Chinese, he couldn't comprehend my decision.
The future mother-in-law and I laughed. I ran upstairs as she defended me, reminding him that dinner was "all fish" anyway.
On a side note, the hand drawn noodle place that used to be next to Choo Choo has moved down a block. Having taken over the Pho 75's space, it's nearly quadrupled in sized--and so has it's menu. Not sure how I feel about it--there was not nearly enough of the pickled veggie in my bowl last night.
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